Prom Night
by HikerChick
Summary: 1997. Toronto, Canada. 18-year-old Lauren Lewis dances around the bedroom in her sea breeze taffeta dress, getting ready for that most wonderful of all high school experiences - Senior Prom. The night does not go quite as expected, however. Purely speculative, purely ridiculous.


**A/N:** A short diversion born from an idea I had during "Moonlighting". This is not meant to be taken seriously in any way, shape, or form. Anyone who takes it seriously does so at his or her own risk. You have been warned. ;-)

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**Chapter One – Hair Spray and Taffeta **

"Been spendin' most our lives livin' in a gangsta's paradise." Lauren Lewis sang along to Coolio as she applied her lipstick and waited for her prom date to arrive. The irony of rapping along to a song about inner city misery was not lost on Lauren – as a privileged eighteen-year-old senior at Toronto's prestigious Colfax Academy, she was about as far from "street" as a human being could possibly be.

"That's why I know my life is out of luck _fool_." She pointed at herself in the mirror and threw up her rock hands as she admired her hair. She'd spent almost an hour on it, ironing it, boosting it, and using enough hairspray to melt a hole in the ozone layer. It had taken her another half hour to come back down from aerosol fume high. Lauren was a science geek, so she knew that inhaling this particular mix of chemicals was a dangerous practice – but it was prom night damn it, and she wanted to get her look juuuust right. Her hair was _not_ going to budge, no matter how much she moved and danced around. And that was the point of the exercise.

"Gangsta's Paradise" ended, and the Spice Girls' "Wannabe" blasted through the speakers of her stereo. She got up and danced wildly around the room, partially because she freakin' loved that song, but mostly to make _absolutely sure_ that the hairdo would hold.

Lauren Lewis was nothing, if not cautious.

She used the same meticulous care on her hair and makeup that she applied to most aspects of her life, primarily her studies. Lauren was a straight-A teacher's pet overachiever. She had a poster of the Periodic Table of the Elements on her bedroom wall. She entered science fairs for the fun of it. She was a captain of the Mathletes. For these and other efforts, she had earned early acceptance and a full ride scholarship to McGill University.

All of which could go a long way toward explaining why Lauren Lewis did not have a boyfriend. Really, who had time for a boyfriend when there were Model UN meetings to chair, and blood drives to organize, and Meals on Wheels routes to travel three days a week?

Official 'Senior Class Awards' had been announced two days ago. Lauren, along with her fellow Mathlete and good friend Frank Apasiewicz, had been voted "Most Likely to Succeed". In the unofficial 'Senior Class Awards', arranged by class clown Joe Talbot and half of the football and cheerleading teams, she had been voted "Most Likely to Have a Heart Attack before Age 30".

It could have been worse. She could have been voted "Most Likely to Get Pregnant" or "Most Likely to Get Arrested" or "Most Likely to Die a Virgin".

Lauren had no intention of dying a virgin. In fact, if the night went the way she planned, she wouldn't be a virgin for much longer at all. Not because she was all that interested in her date, Andrew. He was a nice enough guy. He was a bench warmer on the hockey team so he was semi-athletic, and he was in her Advanced World History class so he had a brain on his shoulders. Most importantly, he was the only one who actually _asked _her to the prom, which made him the perfect candidate for de-virginization.

She told herself that her interest in sex was purely scientific; she looked at Andrew as just another variable in just another experiment. This was her justification to keep from feeling like a slut. Mostly, she just didn't want to go to college a virgin, and she deduced that Prom and Andrew would be her best chance to rectify the situation.

"So here's the story from A to Z you wanna get with me? You better listen carefully…" She grabbed her brush and sang in the mirror, pleased with herself. Now that the braces were off, she almost considered herself a hottie. Almost. Now if she could just carry a conversation without socially awkward pauses, that would be perfect. "If you wannabe my _lovah_…"

"Lauren!" Her mother shouted from downstairs. "It's almost six! Andrew will be here any minute!"

"Yikes!" Lauren hiked up her strapless sea breeze taffeta gown, and sat down on the bed to pull on a pair of high heels. She'd been practicing walking in them for the last few weeks, so she was feeling ready to go. As ready as any science geek could be.

She walked to her closet, opened it, and cast a long glance at a poster that took up the entire length and breadth of the door. Lauren spoke softly to herself…this was a routine before math competitions, test days, speeches, anything for which she needed an extra boost of courage. "Lauren, you kick ass. You are a warrior. You are strong. You are sexy. You can do anything." She held her hands to her face and folded them almost as if in prayer, as she looked at the poster of the strong, scantily clad, armor bra'd, leather skirted, weapon toting warrior in front of her. She took a deep breath.

"Xena, give me strength."

"LAUREN!" Her mother shouted again.

"Coming!" She took one more look at the poster, made two biceps, and closed the door. "Slam your body down and zig a zig AH!" She swagger-strut-danced from her bedroom.

Andrew didn't stand a chance.


End file.
